


Mothers' Day

by zizis



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:51:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zizis/pseuds/zizis
Summary: A day





	Mothers' Day

**Author's Note:**

> The intention was to write a fluffy one shot after my last multi chapter piece "Venice In The Rain". Some nice domestic fluff. But it was coming up to Mother’s Day, a day I have found to be the most painful day in the year ever since my own mother died. Which led me to think about mothers and daughters, and that led to this. A bit more angsty than I’d anticipated. With added fluff. But mostly I hope you will find it is about enduring love.
> 
> PS : There is no mistake in the apostrophe placement in the title.

9.00pm :

 

Bernie is pacing up and down. Serena is late home. She always knew tonight would be a stretch, what with Serena having to work a late shift in exchange for getting the weekend off. But Bernie is fretting.

“So sorry darling. Running late. Caught up in theatre. Home asap x.” The message flashes up on her phone.

But Bernie is still fretting.

The car is already packed, their suitcases stowed in the boot, and the dress bags are laid out across the back seat in an effort to save their contents from creasing too much. She has made cauliflower cheese, which is quietly bubbling in the oven, ready for when Serena gets back, a light supper before they head off. She reckons the drive to the hotel, deep in the countryside, will take around a couple of hours or so. They won’t get there til late. Most of the wedding party will already be there, suppered and settled, long before them. But that was always going to be the case with having to work around their shifts.

But now it’s started snowing lightly. Bernie is fretting. Hopes they can get away before driving becomes difficult.

But Bernie is mainly fretting because tomorrow she will be Berenice Wolfe, mother of the bride. For tomorrow, 9 December, her daughter Charlotte Dunn is marrying Mr William Peters, son of Mary and Andrew Peters, at Calthorpe Manor House Hotel, at 5.00 pm in a candlelit ceremony officiated by the local registrar.

The rapprochement with Charlotte has not been easy. It has taken time and still feels slightly tenuous. Bernie still feels guilty for her absences, for her hiding, and Charlotte for her exile of her mother. Still feels like they are strangers at times. Bernie finds she holds herself back, as if she doesn’t feel she has a right to step forward. Feels she might be intruding. Is unsure of the role that is now expected of her. She so wants to get it right. And it’s even more complicated now. Now that Marcus has remarried, his new wife Lillian revelling in her role as Charlotte’s step mother. No clichés here - Charlotte and the new Mrs Dunn seem to get on famously. Bernie’s been so anxious not to cause offence. Not to tread on anyone’s toes. Not to push herself forward. Gone along with them organising the whole shebang. It is they who chose the dress together; clucked, no doubt, over the floral displays. Leaving Bernie to concur with decisions already made, if her opinion was sought. Bernie retreats inwardly when she catches Charlotte staring at her, searching, for what ? Approval ? Support ? Rescue ? Or just wondering what she is thinking ? Bernie doesn’t know what Charlotte wants her to be. Is terrified of pushing too far, of getting it wrong. She only knows, with complete certainty, that she loves her daughter, is proud of her, is so grateful to be back in her life. Doesn’t want to jeopardise this. So Bernie is fretting.

A key sounds in the door.

“Oh love. I’m so sorry.” Serena stands in the hallway loosening her scarf, “We can head straight off if you want ?”

“It’s fine. You haven’t eaten yet have you ?”

Serena shakes her head, “It’s ok. Honestly.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s cauliflower cheese in the oven for you. It’s cold out there, and a long drive. Car’s already packed. Let’s get some food in you. Come on.”

And Bernie bustles Serena, now coatless, into the kitchen, with a kiss to her cheek, and sits her down at the table. As she turns to the oven, feels Serena take her hand and squeeze it gently.

“Thanks Bernie.”

She smiles back at Serena. Serena looks tired. There are dark smudges underneath her eyes, smudges that Serena will paint over tomorrow with a layer of concealer, much like the one she applied earlier today, which has now worn away. Serena is weary. And Bernie knows it is not just the long days, the tough surgeries. Knows that Serena is battling her own demons. The elephant in the room. Bernie is the mother of the bride. Serena will never be.

 

Nearly midnight :

 

By the time they reach the hotel it is almost midnight. The snow has begun to fall more persistently, and Bernie’s eyes are tired from having to peer through the snowy curtain as she drives. But they can hear the sound of laughter coming from the hotel lounge where Charlotte and her friends are clearly still in full swing.

“I should probably say hello.” Bernie whispers, tilting her head towards the laughter.

Serena nods. “Do you mind if I go straight up ?”

“Sure. I’ll be up soon. Promise.”

Bernie watches as Serena climbs the stairs slowly. Wishes for a moment that she could feel her warmth by her side, infusing her with courage, and turns to enter the lounge.

Serena pauses on the stairs as she hears the loud joyful exclamation, “Mum ! You’re here !”

Serena smiles softly to herself. She is happy for Bernie. Knows how much being back in Charlotte’s life means to her. How anxious she is to get it right this time round. She knows too how Bernie wants to ask her what she should do. Knows that Bernie is holding back because she wants to avoid hurting Serena, to avoid reminding her of what she no longer has. Wants to protect her. And sometimes Bernie is right. Sometimes it is too much. But now, today, tomorrow, Serena is determined. Today, tomorrow, she will help Bernie be the best mother she can be.

 

12.30 am:

 

When Bernie enters their room, Serena is sat at the dressing table in her nightdress, removing the remains of her make up. Bernie has watched her perform this ritual night after night, and still her heart melts at the sight. Layers wiped away until there she is. Her Serena. The Serena only she gets to see.

She walks up to her, places her hands on each shoulder and kisses the top of her head. Serena smiles back at her in the mirror.

“She’s so excited. Can’t imagine she’ll get much sleep tonight. Sends her love. Says she’s looking forward to seeing you in the morning.”

And Bernie bends lower. Serena turns her head and their lips meet, and melt into a deepening kiss. Any anxiety seeps away. Bernie pulls back with a chuckle, “Her mother, however, is bushed. Bed ?”

In bed at last, Bernie nestles into Serena’s arms.

“She looks so happy,” she whispers against Serena’s breast.

“Good. Now get some sleep.” Serena replies, carding her fingers gently through Bernie’s hair, as she lies back staring up into the black darkness.

 

8.30am :

 

Bernie wakes first. Her bladder is calling. She creeps out from under the warm duvet, careful not to disturb the still sleeping Serena, and pads across the carpeted floor towards the ensuite bathroom, shivering in her shorts and tee. A bright stream of light is forcing its way through the gap in the curtains, the landscape beyond them now a brilliant white.

Bernie slides back beneath the duvet. Serena looks so peaceful, her face relaxed, lines of tension smoothed away. Lying on her back she warms her cold hands between her thighs, before turning to look at Serena again. She will never tire of this. This waking up beside the woman she loves. Serena murmurs but doesn’t stir. Bernie softly traces her fingers across Serena’s hip.

“Mmmm, Bernie,” a sleepy mumble.

She reaches the top of Serena’s thigh, and lets her fingers softly toy with the curls she finds there, hears another soft moan, and feels Serena part her legs, just a little. She reaches lower and lets her fingers slide into the warmth she finds, already wet with sleepy arousal. Gently she strokes and circles, watching Serena’s face as she does so. Sees her eyes flutter, open briefly, and close again. Hears the pace of her breath change. Knows this is no longer sleep, but concentration. She moves her fingers more firmly now. Hears a rasp. Stops. Uncertain.

“Serena ?” whispered.

“Don’t stop Bernie. Please don’t stop.”

So she doesn’t. Establishes a rhythm, a pace. Builds alongside soft swiftening sobs until she feels the familiar catch in Serena’s breath and then her shudder.

Serena’s eyes are open now. Smiling. Warm.

“Good morning gorgeous.”

“And good morning to you.”

And Bernie curls up into Serena, and they lie there still, listening to the beat of their hearts in the silence.

 

9.50 am :

 

“What time is it ?”

They have both dozed off again.

“Blimey. It’s almost 10 ! We’ll miss breakfast if we don’t get up now….unless, that is, you fancy breakfast in bed, courtesy of room service ?”

“Oh that sounds an excellent idea. But don’t you have duties to perform ?”

“Ah. Yes. Charlotte. I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you call her room and find out what she wants you to do, and then we can take it from there.”

Bernie reaches for the phone at the side of the bed and asks reception to put her through to Charlotte. Serena grabs her robe and stands by the window looking out across the snowy parkland below, lost in thought. After a few moments she feels Bernie’s arms around her waist.

“Breakfast in bed it is then. It seems I am not required until 3.00. Her bridesmaids and Lillian seem to have it all under control….”

“Do you mind sweetheart ?” Serena senses Bernie’s feeling of displacement.

Bernie shrugs.

“To be honest, it’s not really my thing….hairdressers, make up, spending the whole day getting ready, giggling…..I’d probably be a fish out of water anyway…Not really sure I’m cut out for the whole ‘mother of the bride’ thing. Be happier going for a walk in the snow….”

“Then let’s do just that,” Serena suggests, pulling Bernie tighter around her. “Let’s have some breakfast, go for a walk, and then come back and get dressed ourselves.”

 

11.30 am :

 

The snow is beautiful. Unspoilt. Virgin, save for the foot marks of hopping birds and other small animals venturing out on this cold morning. They are wrapped up warm, bundled in scarves and hats. Linking arms as they walk along barely discernible paths. The elephant in the room is now the elephant in the snow, always with them.

“Elinor…” Bernie ventures tentatively.

“Yes ?”

“Do you think she’d have wanted a wedding like…..this ?”

“Well, I doubt she’d have wanted something low key. Always loved being the centre of attention, my daughter.”

“You’d have been so much better at this than me, Serena. I’m sorry.”

“Listen to me, Berenice Griselda Wolfe. You are doing just fine. I know this isn’t easy for you. You, me, we’re not exactly ones to make a fuss. The most important thing is that you are here, that you will, after all that happened, be by your daughter’s side when she gets married.”

“I wish you could be too.”

“I know.”

A silence falls between them as they walk on. And Serena thinks, not for the first or the last time that day, of Elinor and what her life might have been, if only. Knows there will always be landmarks, always constant reminders of what will, can, never be. Knows it will always sit like a stone heavy inside her, one she carries with her every moment of every day. But also knows that she can move forward with her life too. Especially with Bernie by her side.

They are heading back now.

“I love you Berenice bloody Wolfe,” Serena squeezes Bernie’s arm, then lets go.

As Bernie continues to walk on, she stoops and gathers together a ball of snow, which she then throws at the back of Bernie hitting her plum on her shoulders as it bursts into a spray of white powder. Bernie swings round, surprised, and immediately delighted.

“You asked for this,” she roars, gathering up her own snowball and tossing it towards Serena.

They duck and dodge and shriek like carefree children, scooping up more snowballs, or at least snow handfuls, and haphazardly chucking them in each other’s general direction, until they are practically back at the hotel. They have snow all over them, their cheeks red with a mixture of laughter and the sting of the cold air.

“Bernie ?”

Marcus’s voice breaks through the lightness. She senses the disapproval in his tone. Bernie turns to see Marcus, standing on the patio, talking to a couple of people. It takes a few moments before she recognises them. Ah. Her future in laws.

She stops and brushes the snow from her coat as she approaches them, Serena not far behind her.

“Oh hello. Did you have a good journey ? Not too much difficulty in the….?”she gesticulates towards the snow behind her, as she tries to recover some decorum. Serena comes up beside her, panting slightly, still breathless. “You remember my wife, Serena,” she introduces her to the very respectable Mr and Mrs Peters senior.

They have the good grace to smile and offer their hands in greeting. If they think Bernie is not quite what they might have hoped for as their son’s mother in law, they keep that thought to themselves. But Serena can barely hold back her laughter. She feels like a naughty school girl who has been caught breaking the rules. How Bernie is holding it together she has no idea.

“Please excuse us. We need to go up now and change. We’ll see you soon.” And with that Bernie grabs Serena’s arm and drags her away back into the building, up the broad staircase and into their room, where alone again at last, they both collapse with laughter on the bed.

 

1.00 pm :

 

“Did you see Marcus’s face ?”

“That is so not how the mother of the bride is supposed to behave a few hours before her daughter’s wedding. Oh god. What will they be thinking ?!” And Bernie mock sinks her head into her hands, as Serena just chuckles with delight.

“How about a shower, Mrs Wolfe ?”

Bernie arches her eyebrow at Serena’s suggestion.

They shuck off their clothes, their skin smarting at the change of temperature from the cold outside to the warmth of their hotel room. The water in the monsoon shower is hot and generous, the stall big enough for both of them. Serena hungrily presses Bernie up against the slate tiled wall, but there is no purchase to be found against its seamless and now soapy contour. Bernie nearly loses her balance and Serena pulls back only just catching her. Laughing they decide that today is perhaps not the best day to risk needing a visit to A&E and settle for promises of later.

Bernie wraps a large white towel around herself and returns to the bedroom. Serena holds back. Looks at her reflection in the mirror above the sink as the condensation on it clears. Reflects on the woman she sees staring back at her. Sees a woman she barely recognises, in her mid-fifties, greying, lined. Runs her finger tips across the skin on her face, down her neck, across her collar bones. It suddenly feels so fragile. Skin. Life. So fleeting. She is the end of the line. An only child, who has lost, mislaid, her only child. And then Bernie is standing behind her again, looking at her in the mirror. The smile on her face as she looks at Serena, catches her, stops her from falling, saves her, as it always does.

“My brush ?”

“You actually have one ?” Serena teases, “Who knew after all these years….”

Bernie leans past her, picks it up from the side of the sink, tosses her head and wet curls at Serena as she leaves the bathroom again.

 

2.15 pm :

 

Serena sits on the bed, legs stretched out, watching Bernie at the dressing table. There is no point in her getting dressed so soon. Bernie however has a deadline to meet. She is finishing pinning her hair into an immaculate French pleat. Her back is straight and upright. Not today the messy locks and skinny jeans. Today will be precision and a uniform. Not a military one, but a uniform nevertheless. And Bernie is dressing with all the concentration required. She is channelling her inner Major. Serena has never seen Bernie so focused on her attire.

Bernie stands and places one leg on the chair. Serena watches as she slowly peels her stocking up her leg, smoothing it as she goes. Serena’s mouth goes dry. She feels a knot of heat tighten at her core. She says nothing and Bernie is oblivious to the effect she is having on her wife. She steps into her dress.

“Serena, would you mind zipping me up ?”

And Serena is there in an instant. Slowly she drags the zip up Bernie’s back, darkly whispering in Bernie’s ear as she does so, “On the condition I get to unzip it later….”

Bernie merely smiles and quirks her eyebrow at her, as she steps into her low heeled shoes. Last she slips on the dress coat. She turns to Serena.

“Will I do ?”

Bernie hates clothes shopping. But for today she knows she has to look perfect. Serena has traipsed round the shops with her, ever patient and reassuring. The moment they spot the emerald green dress suit they know it is the one. And today, Bernie standing before her, Serena’s breath is taken away. Bernie is beautiful. Exquisite.

“I think you probably will.” Serena nods, the mistress of understatement.

“I’d best go up to Lottie now. Wish me luck.”

“Bernie. You look amazing. You are amazing. I’ll see you later. Now go.”

And as Bernie leaves, she thinks she hears Serena murmur, “You don’t stand a chance Lillian Dunn.”

 

4.30 pm :

 

Serena is dressed and ready, bar her shoes and jacket. A midnight blue that will compliment Bernie but not outshine her. She stands at the window. It is already dark but the lights from the hotel windows are spilling onto the snowy scape outside. It looks almost ethereal, like a camera film negative. She wonders if she should make her way downstairs yet. She toys with the locket on the chain around her neck, inside it a photograph of Elinor that she carries with her always.

There is a knock on the door. She opens it to find Cameron standing there.

“Mum….I.….thought….maybe it would be a nice idea if I walked down with you ?”

“Thank you. That would be lovely. Just give me a moment.”

And she steps into her shoes, pulls on her jacket, takes one last look in the mirror, before taking his proffered arm.

“You look lovely,” Cam has good manners, “That colour really suits you.”

“Not orange though,” she teases.

He blushes at the reminder of the awkwardness of their first social conversation together at the bar in Albie’s all those years ago.

“Definitely not orange,” he pauses, “Mum is really lucky to have you Serena.”

“And I her, Cam, I her. How are they doing ?”

“Lottie has it all under control. Happily bossing everyone about and taking the whole thing in her stride. Mum….well….” he tails off.

The room where the ceremony takes place is beautiful. Serena has to hand it to Charlotte and Lillian. There are candles everywhere, creating a warm intimacy, their flickering light dancing over the sprays of white flowers tastefully placed around the room. Dunns to the left, Peters to the right. People are already taking their seats and there is a soft buzz of expectant conversation. The Dunn front row has place names. Marcus to the centre aisle, then Lillian, Cam strategically placed between her and Bernie, Serena at the far end by Bernie’s side. Blended families.

Bernie takes her seat shortly before Marcus walks Charlotte down the aisle to the two chairs at the very front where William is waiting. Serena watches as Bernie steadies her emotions, as she swallows, holds her head up, and blinks back the welling tears. Charlotte looks beautiful, as is the prerogative of all brides on their wedding day. Serena’s hand slips into Bernie’s and gives her a reassuring squeeze. Bernie doesn’t look at Serena, but Serena can see a smile flicker across Bernie’s face, and feels her breath soften. Their hands stay entwined throughout the entire ceremony.

 

9.30 pm :

 

The newest Mr and Mrs Peters are wed. The meal, which followed a champagne reception – “Nothing but the best for my little girl,” grins Marcus – has concluded, complete with the traditional speeches and toasts. There have been photographs in formal groupings, even one with Charlotte between Bernie and Serena. Time it seems is a healer after all. And now there is dancing in the library, where the carpet has been rolled back to create a dance floor.

Serena notices the moment when Bernie finally starts to relax. The moment when the tension in her shoulders begins to dissolve.

“My feet are killing me,” she mutters to Serena as she leans against a bookcase and steps out of her shoes.

“Careful,” Serena warns, “you may never get them on again.”

“And that would be a bad thing ?” Bernie smiles. A real smile. A Bernie smile.

Serena looks at Bernie as she turns to watch her daughter dancing with her new husband. The once immaculate French pleat is now a little awry, wisps of Bernie’s hair straying and creeping down her long bare neck. Serena wants nothing more than to kiss that neck, to plant kiss after kiss on it, to suck at it gently until she hears Bernie’s familiar moan. Instead she reaches for Bernie’s hand again.

“Dance with me ?” Serena asks.

“Here ?”

“Why not ?”

And Bernie can’t think of a reason why they shouldn’t, so they do. She pulls Serena in close to her, their bodies melting together.

She presses her cheek against Serena’s, and whispers, “We did ok, didn’t we ?”

And Serena answers with a nod, planting a soft kiss against her lips, “We did.”


End file.
